Okay, this is a tease. I’m back working on a tequila painting as I said I would be, but Deb and I are moving to Gold Canyon, Arizona. The effort to gather all of our stuff and get our present home ready for its new owner has dominated my (and Deb’s) time.
I am working on a painting that is probably 80% finished, and it’s difficult for me to look at it and not be able to paint. Not only that, it is a real challenge: not one, but three tequila bottles. (That’s a hint.) Once we’re totally in our temporary digs I may be able to squeeze a few hours into it, and maybe even complete it before we move into our new home toward the end of September. It’s another 16” x 20” acrylic on canvas, but that’s all I’m saying. Stay tuned. I’ll reveal it the moment it’s signed.
One afternoon in the late 1990s a number of my friends and I dropped into a tequila bar in Tempe called “Palapa’s” for a shot of tequila. We were sipping a shot of Patron añejo, which at the time for us was the “real deal.” We said to the bartender, “This is pretty good, huh?” He replied, “It’s okay.” We were a bit surprised, and asked, “So, what do YOU like?” He walked back with a bottle of Jose Cuervo Reserva de la Familia. We said, “Cuervo? Really?” He poured us all a shot at $16 a copy. It was dark, looking more like a fine whiskey or Cognac. We said, “Did he say this is Tequila?” We studied it. We smelled it. And then we took a sip. Again we said, “DID HE SAY THIS IS TEQUILA?” We’d never had anything quite like it before. It was smooth, with a sweet caramel undertone and near cognac flavor. That’s when it all started. 
